


ache

by lovelyspiral



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 21:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8770564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyspiral/pseuds/lovelyspiral
Summary: The song he had written for Yuri plays in the back of his mind, crescendos as Yuri cups his face.





	

Jean thinks the way Yuri skates looks like he’s about to slip right through the ice. Long fingers thread nimbly through the air, as if Yuri’s conducting an orchestra. Yuri looks endless somehow, all golden hair and soft music and spins. Jean can’t look away. Even if Yuri were to sink under the ice right now, Jean might just stand there, still transfixed.

Yuri stops, thin chest heaving. Their eyes meet; a twitch breaks through as Yuri stands, proud, on the ice with his arms out. A storm of flowers falls upon the rink.

_Yuri! Yuri! Yuri!_

 The crowd loves him. Someone throws a pair of cat ears. Jean claps, and Yuri scowls. 

* * *

 The first time Jean had seen the kid, he’d wanted to make him feel at ease. He’d swaggered over, tried to strike up a conversation – surely he could bring a smile to that face – but Yuri had wanted nothing to do with him, content enough to sit alone, to mouth the words of the songs playing on his phone.

Jean had wanted to know if Yuri would ever listen to his music. He hadn’t found it in himself to ask, though. What Yuri thought of him – he didn’t want to know just yet. Every time they meet, the words rise to his lips. Every time they meet, he swallows it all back down.

He talks to Yuri the only way he knows how: teasing. Yuri’s face flushes and twists and furious Russian swears are hurled his way. Jean replies soothingly in French. Yuri’s hair grows longer while his patience with Jean grows shorter.

Now, glancing over at Yuri practicing, Jean feels that familiar ache in his chest. He wants to talk with Yuri, learn about him. Sing to him. He still wants to make him smile.

_Show me that look you have -- that look while you skate --_

_But why?_

He can’t figure out why it seems to matter so much. Not after writing a song, not after composing a set – not after thumbing mentally through everything he knows about Yuri (nearly nothing), and everything he knows about himself. Maybe he’s just building Yuri up to be something more than he really is. Yuri’s just a kid, after all, but Jean still can’t shake the suspicion that no, Yuri’s someone special. Undoubtedly talented, but more than that, Yuri’s got him tripping over his own tongue.

He can only hope for next time. Jean’s never been one to give up -- another competition, another chance. He gives Yuri once last look before heading to the locker rooms. 

* * *

Back home in Canada, pushing his bangs back against the wind, Jean wonders how Yuri’s hands would feel in his hair. All he’s seen of Yuri since the last competition are brief Instagram updates and the rare Snapchat story. Sometimes he hears about Russia’s little tiger through the grapevine; he seems to be doing well.

Nothing he’s heard should’ve called up the image of Yuri’s hands.

When he gets to the rink, he skates and skates and skates until his legs almost give way. He thinks of Yuri retching on the ice, vying for first, vying to beat _him,_ and gets up.

* * *

 The day he hurts his knee, his girlfriend comes to visit him in the hospital. She’s a nice girl, but nothing she says can placate him.

“You’re JJ,” she tries, and it bursts out from him before he can even realize what he’s saying.

_“What does that even mean?”_

“It means -- it means you’ll pull through,” She stammers. “You always have, JJ. Y-you’re the best!”

He’s said it so many times. He’s heard so many times. This time, though, with talks of surgery and therapy in the air, he doesn’t feel like anything. He feels small, and cold, and the hand that had reached for Viktor’s place, for gold, falls even shorter.

He thinks of Yuri, always growing, steadily closing the gap between them. He wonders what Yuri would say if he were here. He’d gloat, probably. Somehow, that doesn’t feel wrong -- somehow, it nearly brings a smile to his face, even though his knee aches. He hasn’t cried yet, though the pain still stings at his eyes.

“JJ?”

He doesn’t answer. She leaves.

* * *

 The doctors say he can keeping skating -- but not yet. The surgery was a success, and therapy’s proceeding well, but not yet, not yet.

_So when,_ Jean wants to demand. But he keeps quiet because any estimate wouldn’t be soon enough. They want to be safe, but Viktor, Yuuri, and Yuri -- they never played safe. JJ had never played safe. Ever since his conversation with his ex-girlfriend, he was still dimly trying to figure out who JJ was going to become. What king hobbled so unsteadily like he did?

_Skating is not the priority right now,_ the doctors tell him firmly. He goes home and tries to pen a song, but nothing feels right until he shoves his face into his pillow and sings himself hoarse.

The next morning, he belatedly realizes he’d chosen the song about Yuri. His throat’s sore, and when he opens Instagram, he sees Yuri’s on a trip with Viktor and Yuuri. Beaches. Smiles. Sun. No ice anywhere.

He debates commenting, but ends up tossing his phone onto the couch and heading back to bed. 

* * *

 He goes on tour.

_To know myself,_ he tells his parents, and what he learns is this: stages cannot replace ice rinks, and that he feels smaller than ever.

When Jean returns, he starts jogging (slowly) again. He signs up for any volunteering events he hears of. He teaches kids how to skate from the sidelines. He writes songs, crumples them up, and then rewrites them.

It isn’t a bad life, he supposes. He’s recovering. His parents and siblings are wonderful, doting. Despite everything, Viktor, Yuuri and Yuri still cross his mind. Something ugly, bitter rises in his throat.

JJ belongs on the ice, not at home. It’s like a siren song -- to answer now would mean losing it all, so he waits. Stretches. Wiles his days away while Yuri Plisetsky climbs higher and higher.

* * *

He takes Yuri for coffee. Somehow, Yuri’s not a kid anymore, face far more angular up close. He’s nineteen already, all of his brashness seemingly settled into an energy that thrummed under his skin.

_Where have the years gone? How can they feel so long but end so soon?  
_

Jean feels too close to the end, and with his knee healing so slowly it feels even closer. Yuri’s quiet, chewing the inside of his cheek as Jean drives. One of his songs plays; Yuri hasn’t noticed.

“So,” Yuri says, stares out the window. Everything seems slow, suspended with Yuri in his car: green hills roll by almost lazily. Jean can’t even speak, not when they’re out of costume, away from the rink – ordinary and alone and too close.

“So,” Jean echoes.

“Why?” Yuri says shortly.

“I could be asking you that,” Jean hums. “What made you say yes?”

“Hungry.” Yuri shrugs. “So – why? You haven’t really asked me out before.”

_After so long_ hangs between them, and then Yuri’s words register.

“A date?” Jean grips the wheel. “Didn’t I say I wanted to celebrate? And you’re in my hometown. I had to come see you.”

“Celebrate with me, and with coffee,” Yuri says dubiously. “And nobody else? Isn’t that a date?”

“I haven’t seen you since our last competition together,” Jean says. “I wanted to catch up.” 

“What’s there to say?” Yuri looks confused, cheek distorting from where it’s pressed against his hand, but he turns to face Jean, hand slipping to tug at the string of his sweater.

“I’ve always wanted to get to know you,” Jean says softly, checking for any cars behind him before he changes lanes. “I’m probably – probably not going to be skating much longer if I ever skate again, Yuri, and then where’s my excuse to see you? Skate Canada is one thing, but...”

Speaking to Yuri like this is like trying not to frighten a cat, but Jean himself feels the most terrified. With his knee like this -- with the knowledge that he might not see Yuri again -- was that why he could loosen his tongue today?

“Watch me anyway. Like you did today,” Yuri says. It sounds almost hesitant, and Jean steals a glance from the corner of his eye. If he looks now, he won’t be able to stop: there’s a dull pink flush building from Yuri’s cheeks to his ears, gradually and beautifully. “Don’t be stupid, JJ– you’ll be skating again soon enough. But I’ll get first even with you there. Just you watch.” 

Something lifts off his chest. He starts laughing, can’t stop even when he catches Yuri’s bewildered expression.

“I’ll be unstoppable,” Jean grins. “You’ll get second.”

“First.”

“Second,” Jean sings, and at that, Yuri wrinkles his nose.

“Change the song. It sounds like shit.”

“What made you say yes?” Jean switches the song to one of his old performance tracks. “Because I busted my knee? Do you feel bad for me, Yurio?”

“Don’t call me Yurio,” Yuri scoffs. “I told you already. You offered free food.”

Jean smiles. “What kind of coffee do you like? Something sweet?”

“Sweet,” Yuri echoes with a small frown. “Not really.”

“Coffee to match your personality then?” Jean laughs when he sees Yuri’s face contort.

“Idiot!”

* * *

When Jean returns to the rink, he’s not competing against Yuri. He’s got to build his way back to him, and once he’s eased back onto the ice, he soars.

He feels like ‘JJ’ again.

* * *

 

 Yuri places first when he’s twenty-one. Even on the raised podium, he isn’t as tall as Jean.

Yuri clamps his medal between his teeth before he raises it, cheers loud and proud for the screaming crowd. Like adoring parents, Viktor and Yuuri are leaping up and down, their shouts carrying as they wave a banner with Yuri’s face on it.

Jean’s knee has the whisper of an ache, but more than that, surprisingly, there’s pride bursting in his chest as he sees Yuri smile.  

He finds Yuri after that night’s celebration, brushes his fingers against Yuri’s wrist. “Do you want to go outside?”

Yuri eyes him somewhat suspiciously. “Just because you lost to me, you’re not going to say something weird like you’re quitting, are you?”

“As if,” Jean laughs. “No, I just – Yuri, I want to kiss you.”

The look on Yuri’s face says that yes, he has just said that out loud, but it’s fine, he can roll with it. Jean takes Yuri’s hand and softly, softly asks, “Can I?”  

For the past year, they’ve been talking. Well – Jean’s been talking _at_ Yuri, mostly, but sometimes the kid responds or sends Snapchats of cats or the ice rink or a new jacket. They’ve seen each other fleetingly at events, at competitions, and Jean swears Yuri only grows more and more beautiful each time. On the ice – off the ice – each time, Yuri steals his breath away. Each time, Yuri speaks to him just a little longer. Another competition, another chance.

Steadily, he waits.

Yuri grips his hand, nails pressing crescent moons into Jean’s skin, and kisses him so quickly Jean must have imagined it. It’s barely a brush of their lips, but a pink flush tellingly rests on Yuri’s face, so Jean draws him back in, pressing against him again and again.

The song he had written for Yuri plays in the back of his mind, crescendos as Yuri cups his face.

When Yuri’s hands card through his hair, they’re gentle.

* * *

 

 


End file.
